Flaming Denial
by RuJa4EVA
Summary: Arthur Kirkland, owner of Kirkland Enterprises - an upcoming music company, lives a boring, lonely life full of paperwork and business pressure. All that changed when he enters into relations with a certain French modeling agency - and meets a man more carefree and happy-go-lucky than he could ever be. Not a crack fic, I swear. Just an interesting twist on a human AU.
1. Chapter 1

Arthur sighed as he sat down in his stuffy office chair, magazine in his hand and the hope of finally getting some downtime in his mind. If he had to jump up for one more stupid phone call from his secretary or - god forbid - his _mother_, he'd have half a mind to walk right off the ledge of his twenty-story business firm.

He fidgeted with his phone, cursing at the blasted technology and damning its creators to hell for making it so _bloody hard to figure out_ before finally managing to get it to play music. Not the music he'd _wanted_ it to play, but he supposed Pink Floyd sounded just as good as the Beatles.

He stared blankly down at the magazine in his hands, not really seeing its cover as his mind had settled itself on his usual fantasy. He air-guitared in his seat, mouthing the lyrics and imagining a crowd going wild for him.

_Lazing in the foggy dew_

_Sitting on a unicorn._

_No fair, you can't hear me_

_But I can you._

_Watching buttercups cup the light_

_Sleeping on a dandelion._

_Too much, I won't touch you_

_But then I might._

"THANK YOU LUHDUHN!" He suddenly shouted before catching himself and clamping his hands over his mouth. Oops. Couldn't be having a repeat of his secretary storming in and yelling to "stop singing so off-pitch, get the bloody hell off your desk, and do some god-damned work for once!" Some people could be so touchy.

He stared at the cover a little while longer as the music came to a close before his brain finally registered the blonde model posing half-naked on his copy of Vanity Fair. Arthur's eyes drifted over the hairy chest, a bit disturbed to find he found it intriguing rather than repulsive. He scanned over the caption subtly covering the man's privates. "Inside him: Uncovering the Secrets Behind This Year's Top Model". Top Model? Well, Arthur mused, he supposed he did seem rather good looking. If you were into that sort of thing. WHICH - he insisted to practically everyone who knew him - HE WAS NOT. His mother constantly tried to pair him up with random men she'd meet, a humiliating and tiresome game which quick frankly he'd gotten sick of.

Still though, this figure…he flipped to the article and skimmed it. He did seem quite popular, and had a good image. No extreme scandals, though apparently he had no problem with nudity or pornagraphic-type photos. He needed someone just like this, to advertise his business. Though his music stores had the most variety in instruments (and best quality, if he said so himself), he lost out on the public awareness that his company even existed. Many more knew of Guitar Center and Sam Ash than Kirkland Enterprises.

He pressed a button on his office phone, buzzing his secretary who picked up with her usual sour greeting. "Cécile? Get Élite modeling agency on the phone. I want to hire a…erm…" He leaned over to look at the magazine, having already forgotten the model's name. "Francis Bonnefoy."


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur fidgeted as he sat across the table from one of the most beautiful men he'd ever seen in his lifetime, accompanied by his rather energetic bi-lingual manager, who served as both overseer of the meeting as well as translator. He glanced up from the contract he'd prepared, starting a bit of small talk to ease his nervousness. "So, Mrs. Hedervary..."

"Miss. I'm not quite married yet." She giggled a bit, her fingers fluttering almost as if expecting an engagement ring to appear right there.

"Oh, yes right, sorry...Ms. Hedervary. That's not French, is it? How did you end up working for a French...agency?" He left the word modeling out, a tad bit embarrassed at the thought of this whole project. He'd enthusiastically looked forward to it a few days ago, all up until his secretary had asked why he'd gotten a male model instead of a female one and he realized how foolish he looked. Of course a female _English-speaking_ model fit this sort of thing better. It made no sense to go out of his way to fly Mr. Bonnefoy over from Paris just to advertise a couple of harmonicas. What was wrong with him?

"No, it's Hungarian. I'm quick at picking up languages, and even quicker at picking up men. So I was perfect for the job, and Elite is the best of the best." She smiled and crossed her legs, looking a bit smug for a woman who basically made money from watching male porn. "But enough idle chat, let's get down to business."

"Y-Yes, er, let's." Arthur cleared his throat, shifting as he glanced once more across the table at the handsome face covered in silky blonde locks.

"So, what would you like Francis to do for..." Elizabeta glanced down at her paperwork, raising her eyebrow. "Kirkland Enterprises? ...Bit of a boring name, isn't it?"

"It's...It's self-explanatory..." He insisted, fidgeting a bit. At least this super hot model couldn't understand him. He didn't need someone famous telling the world what a blithering knobhead he was.

"Right..." Elizabeta said with a tone and a sweep around the office with her eyes that indicated she clearly would love to change everything about his corporation, starting with the dull title and ending with a remodeling of its CEO's wardrobe. "Well, Francis is open to any types of photos. Clothes, underwear, nudity..."

"Yes, I erm, read about that..." He didn't mention exactly which magazine he'd seen it in, lest it get out which picture Arthur had seen that made him decide to hire Francis. "I'm not exactly sure which type to go with...I mean... I was thinking of using him for.. different things..." He blushed, his mind immediately going straight to the gutter. "I mean er, different products and... such..."

"Okay then..." Elizabeta raised her eyebrow at England's rephrasing, but chose not to say anything. Oh god, she must think him such a nutter. And Francis...his eyes drifted over to the model, surprised to find his blue eyes intently staring at him. The blonde's perfect lips (which appeared lipgloss-covered) slid into a smirk and he winked at Arthur. He blushed and quickly turned away, distracted and barely catching Hedervary's question. "Which products were you thinking?"

"I erm..." He looked away, shuffling some papers. He honestly hadn't thought this through at all, he'd just wanted to hire the Frenchman who'd entered his mind and stayed there from the moment he'd seen his picture. His eyes settled on the contract in his hands, the solution jumping right out at him in the wall of text. Good old Cecile, she'd thought of everything! He just didn't know what he'd do without her, he'd simply lose his head.

"We just opened a new store that specializes in punk and hard rock music, they could use some advertising." He mentally smacked himself as he envisioned Francis posing with a guitar, ashamed as he imagined that hot body straddling the neck. Sometimes he wished his punk days would just stay back in the past instead of constantly invading his mind in the present. He couldn't quite let go of the dream of becoming a famous rock star: the only reason he'd ever even gone into the music industry in the first place. But he just didn't have the talent to make it and ended up in an office job...

"Of course, that's do-able." Elizabeta wrote something down on a notepad, smiling and nodding. "And would these photos be available for all ages?"

" Er, yes... though... maybe we could do some...some more adult ones, just... for certain magazines and... er ...you know..." He blushed as he not-so-subtly looked Francis over, mentally undressing him with his eyes.

The model simply smiled as his manager smirked knowingly. "Oh of course." She quickly switched back into her friendly, innocent smile. "So underwear or nudes?"

Arthur flushed more as he found himself captured by Francis' gaze. He finally tore his eyes away, biting his lip as he avoided Elizabeta's knowing look. "...both."


	3. Chapter 3

"Alright everyone, let's get a move on here! Don't want to lose daylight!" Elizabeta clapped her hands and went about checking on everything, buzzing about to each photographer and assistant and lecturing them on one thing or another.

Giant light stands, make up stations, clothing, and cameras cluttered Arthur's latest store, making him question having the shoot on location when not one piece of it would remain recognizable. In fact, it seemed to him that with all the gray backdrops covering the walls, they planned on using nothing of the actual building.

He fidgeted, feeling a bit nervous and out of place with the whole production. His eyes darted around, trying not to stare too long at any one person (was everyone in the modeling industry super good looking? Even the cameraman seemed date-able. Not that Arthur would date a man.) but couldn't help it as his eyes kept resting on Francis.

Their eyes suddenly locked and the Frenchman smiled, waving Arthur over. " Excusez-moi, dois-je porter des vêtements pour cette photo?" He inquired, seeming a bit lost without his manager.

"Er..." Arthur glanced around, trying to find Elizabeta or someone else who could translate for him, but found everyone intently adjusting a light or examining some angles on their cameras. "No habla...wait..." No, that was Spanish, eejit! He mentally facepalmed at his own stupidity, wishing he had taken that course of French back in college. "Erm...I don't...ah..."

Francis started gesturing, seeming to understand his predicament, and mustered together what little English he appeared to know. "I..." He pointed to himself. "I wear..." He tugged at his shirt and then held his hands out to England in an unspoken question.

"Oh, er..." Arthur furrowed his eyebrows, hoping he understood correctly. "Well I was thinking you could wear...ah, I'll show you." He riffled through the clothes rack, which seemed full of all sorts of random outfits. Elizabeta had really thought of every popular music fashion style to bring... He smiled as he took out a pair of tight black jeans and a black t-shirt that had cut-up pieces of purple cloth sewn it at random angles. He handed the clothes to Francis, placing a spikey metal wristband on his arm. "There. This will certainly appeal to the younger crowd, don't you think?" He didn't admit that he had a bunch of the same sorts of things in his closet at home. Clothes he hadn't worn in years...

Francis nodded and immediately started stripping in the middle of the store, unperturbed by the large amount of people around. No one else around him paid any attention, used to such a thing when working with models.

Arthur immediately flushed, stepping back and stammering as he looked around nervously as if both of them were participating in something illegal. " Y-you're not going to change in the bathroom or...?" He bit his lip as he felt the heat rising in his face, and quickly turned away lest something else begin to rise...

A tap on his shoulder startled him, and he turned around to find Francis had changed in a jiffy. He supposed models did have to do a lot of clothing changes. If only he could get in his work suit that fast.

The blonde grabbed the ribbon holding his hair together, pointing to it with his finger. "'air?"

Arthur resisted the urge to smile at the how silly the blue ribbon looked combined with the punk garb. "W-well it could be a bit messier...y-you know, like a rock-star?" He noticed the confused look he received, and pointed at the AC/DC poster hanging on the wall beside them. "Heavy metal? Rock? Punk?" He tried miming playing a guitar, only to stop quickly once he realized how silly he looked.

Francis chuckled, his smile making Arthur's heart flutter. The Frenchman studied the poster, paying extra special attention to Malcolm and Cliff's hair. He reached back, taking out his ponytail and shaking out his blonde locks, looking to Arthur for approval. "Bon?"

"Y-Yes, better..." Arthur watched as Francis strutted around, trying to get the feeling of the skinny jeans. He tried and failed to avert his eyes from the blonde's behind, clenching his fists at his side and jumping when Elizabeta suddenly called them over.

"Haven't you changed yet? Come on Mr. Kirkland." She shoved some clothes in his hands, distracting him from Francis' ass. "I told you, we like to get shots with an employee too!"

"Yes, right, sorry...I'll do that now." He shuffled off to the bathroom to change, locking himself in a stall and banging his head repeatedly as he tried to squeeze into his own tight pants. He pulled his tank top up, pleased with the Union Jack but disapproving of how low the cut went. Oh god, what had happened to him? He'd gotten so accustomed to button-up shirts and ties now that any normal clothing felt downright uncomfortable.

He tried not to make eye contact as he walked out and stood next to Francis, knowing he probably looked as awkward and embarrassed as he felt. He tried to make small talk as the assistants started shining bright lights in his face, shifting anxiously. S-so this is fun... er... dressing up..."

Francis smiled, admiring Arthur's black-and-white patterned pants. "Tres mignon." He murmured before suddenly leaning down and planting a kiss on his cheek. Arthur went still, savoring the feeling of those soft lips against his skin. He touched his burning face and felt something sticky, observing his hand to find that yes indeed, Francis wore a light pink lip gloss, just as he'd thought.

"Oh sorry Arthur, that's just how they say hello in Paris." Elizabeta giggled behind her hand, putting on an apologetic face but clearly taking a bit of pleasure in Arthur's embarrassment.

"N-no need to be sorry..." He shifted a bit, trying to calm himself. He noticed France staring at him from out of the corner of his eye.

"Droit, d'accord! Commençons, les gens!"* Elizabeta clapped her hands again and stepped out of the camera's line of view. Francis immediately managed to strike the perfect crossbreed between a sexy model and a punk pose (despite seeming to know very little about anything even remotely punk-ish), while Arthur just stood awkwardly and didn't even bother attempting anything, knowing he would make a full of himself. It didn't seem to matter, as the photographer obviously focused in on Francis, his camera not even pointing anywhere near Arthur.

Apparently this wasn't okay with Francis.

"Non non non! Vous êtes toujours le faire, Pierre!"** He turned on the photographer, placing a hand on his hip and pointing a finger at him accusingly.

Pierre immediately got nasty, yelling and gesturing to Arthur angrily. " Il n'est pas un professionnel! Mon travail sera ruiné!"***

" Arthur est un collègue que j'ai choisi! Il reste dans les photos!"**** Francis insisted, stamping his foot down and placing his other hand on his hip as well.

Arthur looked between the two men curiously, wondering what he'd done wrong. A glance at Elizabeta, whose eyes rolled at the Frenchmen's argument, told him that he had nothing to do with the issue. These two must have argued at every shoot or something...

"Puis lui faire poser correctement!"***** The photographer angrily pointed at Arthur's hands, which hung limply at his sides, and his feet which stood boringly symmetrical.

Francis sighed and nodded, holding his elbow in one hand while his other massaged his temples, calming down. He smiled apologetically at Arthur. "Je suis désolé."****** He moved over, taking Arthur's arms and posing him properly into more of a punk rock pose. Arthur blushed at how easily he slipped into the sign of the horns, his hands remembering it easily from multiple use in the past.

Francis suddenly slipped an arm around Arthur's waist, pulling him closer and smirking at the camera. Arthur tried to mimic him, giving the camera a forced cocky smile, all while his heart hammered in his chest. Oh god, could Francis hear that? Could the whole store hear that? His pulse pounded in his ears and he mentally groaned, knowing how red his face would turn out in the photos.

* * *

After an hour of shooting (mainly photos of Francis as the photographer kept insisting Arthur ruined his masterpieces), Elizabeta clapped her hands once more, calling for a dinner break. " Je veux vous voir tous revenir ici dans une heure! ******* Mr. Kirkland, would you mind coming here for a minute?"

"H-Huh? Oh, sure." Arthur jumped up from his seat on the water cooler, glancing over as Francis started stripping out of his punk outfit to settle into more comfortably fashionable clothes.

"Do you mind showing Francis around London? I have to meet up with someone." Elizabeta checked her phone, flipping through messages from her boyfriend.

"Er..." Arthur looked over at Francis. Did he mind showing the best looking, most exotic man he had ever met around his boring, dull hometown? Did he mind trying to keep up a conversation with a man he couldn't speak a word to? Did he mind looking like a complete idiot in front of the first man he had ever allowed himself to admit having an attraction to?

...

"No, not at all."

* * *

***Right, okay! Begin, people!**

****No no no! You always do that, Peter!**

***** He is not a professional! My work will be ruined!**

****** Arthur is a colleague whom I have chosen! He remains in the pictures!**

******* Then pose him properly!**

********I'm sorry.**

********* I want to see you all back here in an hour!**


	4. Chapter 4

And thus, Arthur found himself left with the task of parading around an incredibly handsome man of whom he had no idea how to communicate with.

"How wonderful! Francis, pourriez-vous venir ici? Arthur va vous emmener dîner!"* Elizabeta waved at Francis, who came over without even bothering to put his shirt on, leaving his rather hairy chest exposed.

"Dîner?" Francis looked at Arthur curiously before smiling, taking his hand, and kissing it. "Merci, merci."**

"Y-Yes, er...not a problem." Arthur blushed, quickly pulling his hand away before he could get too worked up. "So when should we be bac-" Arthur turned to find himself alone with the model, Elizabeta having run off during their brief exchange. What was up with that woman? She knew he didn't speak a lick of French, yet she kept insisting on leaving the two of them alone. Someone else could have taken Francis out, surely a few of the photographers wouldn't mind, they knew him better anyway. Not like they couldn't easily navigate the simple area...

He noticed Francis staring at him, and quickly turned back to the Frenchman, scratching his hair and laughing awkwardly. "So this is...uh, tricky. I erm...I know a nice place..." He tried to speak with his hands, but he could see by the way the other's eyebrow raised that the message didn't get across. "Er...here..." He grabbed the model's hand in a rather bold move, taking him out of the store and down to a relatively nearby place that specialized in French cuisine. At least this way they wouldn't have to worry about running late for the shoot, and Francis would hopefully find the food to his taste. He examined the restaurant he'd frequented many times, hoping it would suit the fancy Frenchmen's standards. He supposed better a little plain than overly fancy. Didn't want Francis thinking he intended to court him or anything...

At the very least, Francis seemed pleased with the atmosphere. "Vous venez souvent ici?"***

Arthur glanced around, wondering what had caught Francis' eye that he'd felt the need to ask a question about. But the other's bright blue irises remained fixed on him, eyebrows raised in interest. "Er...I...wot?"

"Arzur." The way Francis said his named as he pointed at him made England's skin tingle. "'ere." This time he pointed down at the floor of the cafe, Arthur following his finger curiously. "Many?" He waved his hands around, attempting to show the concept of a large number.

"Wot?" Arthur bit his lip, his eyebrows furrowing as he tried to figure out what the other tried to communicate. He...here...many... Here must have meant the cafe, and he knew his own name... "Oh! Er, no, I mean...a few times for business lunches but...I usually eat alone...at home..." He shifted, thinking of all the chinkies and greasy spoons he'd gone to, all so he wouldn't have to humiliate himself out in public by eating alone. No wonder he'd gained a few pounds...and he hadn't quite felt up to snuff lately...all because of that blasted take away!

"'ome? Where?" Francis followed Arthur pretty well, considering he knew little to no English. It certainly impressed Arthur, who still pronounced "merci" like "mercy" and didn't understand any French beyond that and "bonjour."

"It's back on the other side of town, near headquarters. Er, where we had our first meeting." His finger idly traced the wood markings on the table, trying to avoid Francis' captivating eyes. He startled when the blonde suddenly grabbed his hand, smiling in a way that indicated he clearly hadn't understood a word he'd said. But Arthur suddenly couldn't find the words to explain any further, so he simply blushed and left his hand there, looking down at the table again.

The waiter came over, a teenager who used a bored, monotone voice to read off the specials before asking what they wanted. Francis immediately ordered in perfect French, assuming that based on the restaurant's menu that the staff knew the language. "Oui, je voudrais quelque filet mignon farci à la tapenade, et nous allons obtenir une...oh, je ne sais pas, un bon vin blanc, peut-être un pinot grigio?"****

The teenager gave him a blank stare, looking at Francis like he'd gone mental. "...Wot?" Arthur sighed and buried his face in his hands, ashamed at his country for its lack of cultural ethics. At least they did better than bloody America...

"Filet mignon? Wiz tapenade...?" France furrowed his eyebrows, speaking a bit slower this time.

"Oh, oh, you meant the Tap-eee-naid, mate? Yeah yeah, I'll getcha fee-let mig-known with the tap-eee-naid, and that...uh, wine or whatever you said." Francis visibly winced at the waiter's botched French, but nodded in confirmation. The kid - who started to look more and more like a high school dropout - turned to Arthur next. "And you?"

"I-I er... I'll have the same." Arthur didn't even bother glancing at the menu, knowing he couldn't possibly focus on the tiny text when Francis' warm hand enclosed his own. Besides, if he tried to order anything he just knew he would also botch the french and he didn't want to look like a dork in front of Francis. Well, more of a dork than he already appeared.

The waiter disappeared, leaving them alone to attempt conversation. Arthur's eyes darted around, trying to find something to talk about. Francis looked completely relaxed, gazing at Arthur with that silly smile of his... He suddenly jumped, banging his knees on the table when Francis suddenly squeezed his hand. Arthur quickly tried to act cool, pretending like his knees didn't feel on fire, and giving Francis a nervous grin that faded as soon as he felt the heat rising to his face. "Y-you...look very nice, you know..."

Francis tilted his head slightly. "Quoi?"

"V-very... er... beautiful..." He fidgeted, knowing he made absolutely no sense. "I'm not sure what the...um...'bella'? 'Bell'?"

"Belle?" Francis pointed a perfectly manicure finger at himself. "Moi?"

"Y-yes. I-I mean...'oui'." He nodded nervously, wondering if Francis thought him too forward. Not that he meant it in a...romantic way or anything! He just meant if as a friendly compliment, mind you!

"Vous êtes trop belle~"***** He chuckled and picked up Arthur's hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it and winking. Arthur's eyes widened, praying that Francis couldn't feel his racing pulse. Ugh, he must look like a blushing schoolgirl right not, getting so worked up over an action that they considered simple politeness in France.

"Th-thank you- ah...'m-mercy'." Oops, he'd tried to avoid saying that word... At least Francis didn't seem to notice his destruction to the French language as the waiter suddenly arrived with their food, placing a foul-smelling dish in front of him. "Er...sorry, what is this? I mean, I know it's beef, but what else...?"

The waiter gave him a strange look which Arthur wanted to punch off his cocky little face. "It's stuffed with tap-ee-naid, mate. Y'know...olives n' anchovies n' garlic n' shit..."

Arthur looked down at his plate in surprise, revolted. Did the French really eat things like that? Francis seemed to tuck right into his food, thoroughly enjoying it as a delicacy. Ugh...this wouldn't do very well for his breath. He supposed he could buy some gum at the corner store on the way back...n-not that he needed to worry about it. Not like he planned on kissing someone or anything... "Well this is certainly...interesting..." He picked at the tapenade with his fork, trying to remove the offending stuffing from his tenderloin.

"So, um..." Arthur cleared his throat, looking Francis in the eyes for the first time during the meal. "I was...wondering er...you know...ah...where...where you were staying while you're here...?" Yes, _that _didn't sound suspicious or anything. It _certainly _didn't make him appear like a creepy stalker. "I er.. mean... if you were paying for a h-hotel or something, you know, you shouldn't...have to er..." He fidgeted again, the action beginning to turn into a habit. "And hotels are l-lonely..." He knew that from lots of experience. "A-and I have a big place..." Which also felt very lonely, especially when you lived there by yourself, where your footsteps would echo in the hallways. "I mean... that is... er..."

"'otel?" Francis suddenly cut in, a smirk playing across his lips. Arthur raised his eyebrow, wondering what about the word hotel had interested the model. "Oui~"

"Oui? Yes? Sp-Splendid!" Some company would certainly liven things up at his place...he couldn't even remember the last time he'd had a guest. Or a friend, for that matter... "Well we er...we have to get back to the shoot soon, do you want anything else? Dessert or anything?"

"Non?" Francis answered in a tone that indicated he clearly had no idea what Arthur had said. Arthur went with it nonetheless, figuring dessert sounded French enough and Francis must have understood that at least.

"Alright." He smiled, his first genuine one in a long time. "Well let's head back then..." He placed some bills on the table, figuring that the waiter would more than happily accept the excess, and stood up, holding the door out for Francis like a regular old gentleman. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this elated, all just for having a guest stay over. And a rather handsome one at that...

Not that Arthur expected anything to happen.

* * *

***Could you come over here? Arthur is going to take you to dinner!**

****Dinner? Thank you, thank you.**

*****Do you come here often?**

******Yes, I would like some filet mignon stuffed with tapenade, and let's get a...oh, I don't know, a nice white wine, perhaps a pinot grigio?**

*******You are beautiful too~**


	5. Chapter 5

**Just a head's up, I decided to change the story rating to M as I realized this chapter is a bit risque.**

* * *

"Oh, there they are!" Elizabeta waved as Arthur led Francis back to the music store, feeling slightly more confident around the blonde than before.

In fact, as they started the photoshoot up again, it seemed Francis himself had gained a bit of confidence as well. He started posing closer with Arthur and getting a lot more touchy-feely, going as far as to grab his butt in one pose (Elizabeta had to remind him that Arthur intended these shots for view by all ages), thus Arthur sighed with relief as Elizabeta signaled the end to the PG-rated shots. He immediately tensed up again, however, when she called for the nude ones they had arranged for.

It took every ounce of self-control Arthur had not to blatantly stare as Francis proceeded to strip and bend over under the pretense of picking his clothes back off of the floor.

"Nice ass, eh?" Arthur jumped, glancing around widely and catching a glimpse of Elizabeta giggling as she walked by him. That devil woman, teasing and making a fool out of him...he couldn't determine whether she liked him or hated his guts.

Francis picked up one of the display guitars and proceeded to straddle it, using it to cover his crotch but also mimic a penis at the same time. Arthur covered his mouth with his hand, attempting to hide his increasingly reddening cheeks as he watched the naked Frenchman pretend to rock out nude on the Fender.

He stared, transfixed, as Francis suddenly took a microphone off its stand and pretended to use it as a dildo. He suddenly stopped caring about covering up the blood rushing to his face and instead squeezed his legs together, trying to hide himself as the blood rushed...other places.

"Arthur?" Once more, Elizabeta startled him, sweeping his mind out of the gutter if only for a brief moment. "Did you have any special requests?"

And right back to the gutter it went.

"H-Huh? O-Oh, I er...n-no..." Nothing that he would request aloud, anyway.

"Ensuite, nous sommes tous fait les gens! Bon travail!"* For the final time that day, Elizabeta clapped her hands to signal the end of the shoot. Francis smiled and got back into his comfortable clothes, walking over to Arthur expectantly.

He blushed and fidgeted, still unable to get the sight of Francis bending over out of his mind. "S-so er.. you wanted to come back to my place right?"

Francis looked confused, not recognizing any of Arthur's words. "'otel, oui?"

"Wot? Er, no, my place, you know, so you don't have to go to the hotel." Arthur's eyebrows furrowed, wondering why Francis kept getting stuck on that word. Did he think Arthur had meant he was willing to pay for his hotel or something? Or perhaps he meant to tell Arthur that he didn't want to go home with him and instead wanted to stay at his hotel. "I-I mean, but we don't have to, I mean I'm not trying to...to be forward or anything weird..."

Francis continued looking confused, scratching his head and trying to find a way to get his question across. He bit his lip before suddenly looking up, seeming to come up with a suitable way of putting it. "We 'ave l'amour?" He offered.

"L'a... you mean..." Arthur's eyes widened, suddenly understanding why the word hotel had excited Francis before. "W-well if you...if you want to..."

* * *

Arthur's hands shook as he unlocked his front door, nervously leading Francis inside and trying to remember the last time he had cleaned up. For a simple guest staying over or something, he'd figured a couple of take away containers wouldn't be a big deal. But for a prospective lover?

He hung his coat up on the hook and turned around to do the same for Francis, but the other had already taken his jacket off.

As well as the rest of his clothes.

Arthur flushed, frozen in shock as the naked Frenchman approached him, pulling him into a hug and squeezing his butt. He smiled down at him, pulling back a bit to run a hand over his bare chest. "You like, oui?"

Arthur fumbled, trying to figure out how to form words with his lips. "O-oui, I...I like..."

"Haut ou en bas?"** Francis questioned.

"Wot?" Arthur searched Francis' eyes, trying to figure out what he wanted.

"Eh...ah..." Francis snapped his fingers, trying to think of another way to put it. "Haut?" He raised a hand up high and rested it on Arthur's head. "Ou en bas?" This time he lowered his hand until it touched the floor, bending over again.

Arthur stared at the hand, trying to figure out what in the world Francis babbled on about. Nothing that had to do with "l'amour" came to mind. "You er...want to do it on the floor?" He guessed.

Francis sighed and shook his head, contemplating again. Suddenly he put his hands out in front of him, thrusting up into the air with his hips. "Haut?"

Arthur blushed, already visualizing his own hips in the space Francis' palms rested and his backside being the area France thrust into.

But before his imagination could go too far, Francis got down on his hands and knees, making faces of pleasure and moving back and forth as if someone fucked him from behind. "Ou en bas?"

Arthur squirmed, Francis' miming turning him on. "I-I er...wh-whatever you w-want..." He sighed at Francis' confused look, wondering if they would always have this much trouble communicating the simplest things. "Er..." He shrugged, confused at what he wanted. A French model...surely he would be excellent in any position. But he supposed it might be better for Francis, obviously the more experienced one, to be in the position of control. "B-Bas?"

"Bon!"*** Without any warning, Francis suddenly scooped England up in his arms bridal-style, ascending the stairs with him and taking cues from Arthur to find the bedroom. He gently laid him down on his messy bedspread (curse him for not making the bed that morning!) and straddled his hips. He slowly worked his way down his shirt, unbuttoning it, and kissing Arthur's neck to soothe him.

Nonetheless, Arthur squirmed nervously. "J-just so you know, I... I've never... you know... I mean..." He turned red as Francis' bright blue eyes looked up. "-I mean.. this girl in college danced really close to me once at this party but other than that, er..." So what if he was a 30 year old virgin? He was a busy man, and besides...he heard that made one a wizard. His fairies had promised...

"Virgin?" Francis, unlike Arthur, guessed spot-on. It seemed Francis could understand English better than he could speak it. The blonde's eyebrows raised but he broke into a gentle, warm smile. "No 'urt. Je t'aime, Arzur." He gave him one more loving kiss before stripping Arthur completely.

With that, Francis gave Arthur a taste of absolutely wonderful, gentle, soft and..._magnifique_ bliss.

And then plunged him into French heaven.

* * *

***Then we're all done people! Good job!**

****Top or bottom?**

*****Good!**

**If you want to read the original smut scene (that is very much so R-18), it's posted up on my tumblr.**


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur awoke early in the morning, groggily wondering if the previous night he'd just had another crazy dream or if he'd really lost his virginity to a French model.

The softly breathing blonde beside him answered his question. He blushed as his eyes trailed down the completely naked sleeper's body, his eyes lingering on the large, slightly hairy member that had recently entered his body. ...Getting so flustered this early in the morning couldn't be healthy.

He noticed the model striking poses in his sleep, as if they hadn't left the photoshoot the previous day. He chuckled, a smile spreading across his face, as he felt the true kind of happiness his emotions hadn't produced in a long time. Francis truly knew how to make a night memorable. And after all his worrying, it hadn't hurt at all...it felt wonderful, and soft, and sweet, and just...truly amazing.

Francis imitated the smile in his sleep, sighing contentedly. "Arzur~"

Arthur startled at the name, making the other stir. He watched as Francis yawned and sat up, looking around languidly before his eyes finally settled on the British office worker. His smile spread. "Bonjour."

"G-Good morning..." Arthur awkwardly returned the smile, trying to keep his eyes from drifting down again. What was he doing, they'd had sex yesterday. Surely Francis wouldn't care if he stared. Though the fact that he felt such a strong urge to mentally ravish his body just proved how little experience and...self-control he had. "H-How did you sleep?" He squirmed, looking away as he tried to steady his stuttering voice. "I...er...had a lot of fun last night."

Francis' eyebrows furrowed, and he responded to Arthur with a kiss to make up for his lack of understanding. "Je t'aime~"

Arthur blushed. That much French he could understand at least. He tried to repeat the language slowly, wanting to get the same point across. "Er...sh-sheh temma..."

Francis chuckled, shaking his head at the botched up French and ruffling Arthur's hair. His eyebrow's raised, his deep blue eyes suddenly piercing into Arthur's own. "Anglais?"

"Huh?" Arthur mouthed stupidly, unable to find his words as he found himself lost in Francis' perfect, well-sculpted face. "Oh er..." He wracked his brain, trying to remember how to speak English. "It's...I-I love you..."

"Zen I love you." Francis smiled, a smile that sent Arthur's heart racing. His stomach growled, drawing the attention of both of them, and he looked around curiously. "Cuisine?"

Arthur sat up, confused as Francis seemed to search for something. He supposed models must get breakfast in bed, or something of the sort. Perhaps he could take him out to breakfast... He didn't want to accidentally set fire to his kitchen again... "Okay, um..." He rushed to try and put clothes on, tripping as he fumbled with his pants. He heard a chuckle behind him and turned to find Francis hadn't moved an inch. "You're er...not going to get dressed?"

"Cuisine?" Francis stood up, disregarding his own nudity, and went to the door, looking over his shoulder at Arthur in a clearly impatient gesture. Was he expecting Arthur to make him breakfast? Because that wouldn't turn out well, especially compared to the high-class meals the Frenchman must have grown accustomed to.

"Er, I was thinking we could go out, um..." He raised an eyebrow as Francis started walking downstairs, and quickly pulled on his pants before hurrying after him. The Frenchman wandered through a few rooms before finding the kitchen, looking around at the tiny, barely-used space. "Sorry it's a little dusty.. I just use the microwave mostly..."

He watched as Francis bent down, searching the cabinets and easily locating a pan that Arthur wasn't even aware he had. "Oh, um, were you going to...?"

Francis ignored him in favor of figuring out the stove, flicking on the heat and putting the pan down before heading to the fridge. Arthur stared, transfixed on the blonde's slender fingers as they flicked 4 eggs quickly against a bowl, splitting the shell perfectly without dropping any tiny pieces in. Anything Arthur baked had at least half an egg shell crushed up in it...

Francis hummed as he mixed up the batter, pouring just the perfect amount to make a fluffy, thin crepe. He tossed the pan a couple times to flip it, chuckling at the way Arthur's eyes widened in amazement. "You cook?"

"M-Me?" Arthur blushed and fidgetted, embarrassed by his obvious staring. "N-No I...I always burn everything..."

"Come." Francis beckoned Arthur over. The businessman approached the oven warily, recalling the last time he'd gotten near it he'd caught his shirt on fire. As Francis took his hand, he couldn't help but notice how soft it was...the model must have used hand lotion which, considering his overall flowery smell, wasn't that surprising.

Slowly Francis guided Arthur's own drier hands to the pan, suddenly flicking his wrist up and letting him flip the thin pancake. "Bon!" Francis smiled and moved the crepe to a plate, pouring in more batter for a second. This time he stepped back, nodding at the pastry.

"Y-You want...by myself?" Arthur swallowed nervously. No one ever trusted him in the kitchen before. Especially not with something this easily burned or messed up. He stared intensely at the pan, listening to the sizzle to determine the time to flip it. As the side facing up began to solidify and a few bubbles appeared, he flicked his wrist up like Francis has showed him and watched as it did a turn mid-air before plopping down neatly back into the pan.

"I-I did it." Arthur looked at Francis in disbelief as the model applauded happily. "I've never done anything successful in the kitchen before..." He carefully slid the food onto another plate, shakily sitting back down at the table to allow Francis room to prepare the filling.

* * *

"Fini!*" Francis placed the two plates down, this time folded up around a cream cheese filling and topped with strawberries. He slid a cup of hot tea next to it, the smell of Earl Grey instantly relaxing Arthur.

"Th-Thanks..." He blushed as Francis sat down across from him, ignoring his own plate in favor of watching Arthur take his first bite. "W-Wow, this is...positively delicious, Francis! I could never make something like this, and I didn't expect you..." He trailed off as the blonde raised an eyebrow. "Well I figured you were just some stuck-up model...I didn't think you could cook or anything..." He looked away, feeling guilty, and chose to stare at the blinking light on the counter rather than into the Frenchman's confused face.

Wait...blinking light? He stood up, going over to the answering machine which currently flashed with the number five. Most likely his mother, whose frequent calls he often chose to ignore in favor of not being lectured over the phone. Still, he'd only just talked to her a couple of days ago, 5 messages seemed like an odd number for such a short time period... He pressed play, leaning his head down to hear better as the voicemail played.

"Arthur, it's your mother. I'll be in the neighborhood today, so I was thinking of stopping by. Your house better not be a mess young man, you know that's not attractive to ladies. And God knows you need one. Or a man, you know I don't judge darling. And don't you roll your eyes, I'm not implying anything, I'm just saying..."

Arthur froze as his mother's voice started lecturing him on the usual about wanting grandkids and being ashamed of having a 35-year-old single son. He looked over his shoulder at the naked model currently eating at his table, knowing that this image would not be the best first impression for his ladylike mother.

"Anyway, expect me around noon."

Arthur's eyes flickered to the clock. 11:55.

Oh bugger.

* * *

***Finished!**

**Updates will be slow, as was with this one as school's started up again! Only a couple chapters left though, I didn't intend to make this super long.**


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